


Sprachverwirrung - Words in Fetters

by Silmanumenel



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Ekkreth - Freeform, Fialleril, Gen, Inspired by..., Language Barrier, Misunderstandings, Possibly AU, Secret-Keeping, Secrets, Slavery, Small Acts of Resistance, Storytelling, Tatooine Slave Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 12:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20192638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silmanumenel/pseuds/Silmanumenel
Summary: After their return from a long mission, Anakin suddenly acts in a completely unexpected manner, and Obi-Wan is at a loss to explain his behaviour. All he wants is to rest, after all. Unfortunately, he doesn’t realise that ambiguities in a language can lead to quite severe misunderstandings.Meanwhile, Anakin is reminded that language is more than just sounds or the words you say.Inspired by Fialleril’s Tatooine slave culture, particularly by Amatakka, Fialleril’s slave language.





	Sprachverwirrung - Words in Fetters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fialleril](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fialleril/gifts).

> I am absolutely fascinated by the Tatooine slave culture Fialleril has created, and in particular by the language (Amatakka) and the ways in which it shapes and explains that culture. And so, when I found a tumblr post about the difficulties that might arise in translations between Amatakka and Basic, I couldn’t resist writing this story.
> 
> So all the credit for anything relating to Tatooine slave culture goes to Fialleril. I have detailed the specific concepts and headcanons that belong to Fialleril in the end notes.
> 
> And credit also to the OP of that tumblr post which mentioned that a specific word (the focus of this story) in Basic might have several variants in Amatakka.
> 
> The title is German (my own first language) and means “linguistic confusion”. I thought it fit in quite well with the theme of the story. The first part is from Obi-Wan’s point of view, the second from Anakin’s, and I have tried for a very focalised narration so that it is truly only their thoughts and their knowledge which is shown.

The mission, while not dangerous, had been an extremely long one. Obi-Wan knew he should be grateful that the negotiations had come to a successful end, with both parties actually satisfied with the results. But he had to admit that even he had nearly reached the end of his rope when the ambassador had asked to go over paragraph 12b again because he felt that the compound adjective based on a present participle in sentence three did not entirely convey what his side meant.

It had not helped that Anakin had sat slouched next to him, practically radiating boredom and drawing little doodles of incomplete circles and squiggly lines on the datapad he had been supposed to use to take notes. Obi-Wan knew arbitrating between two groups squabbling over the use of an uninhabited forest continent was not the most interesting of missions, but he had tried to impress upon his padawan that any type of situation could be a learning experience – which, quite obviously, had been of no avail. Caught between bickering representatives and an increasingly ill-tempered padawan, Obi-Wan had, at times, felt ready to scream.

Therefore, he was more than happy to return to the Temple – and to hopefully stay there for some time. They had had several back-to-back missions which had caused Anakin to miss an exam in Galactic law, so his padawan was now slated for four whole weeks of classes. Obi-Wan also intended to focus more on Soresu for their lightsabre training; he believed Anakin should learn to concentrate more on his defence. But mainly, he hoped for a calmer time than they had had the past months and for the opportunity to indulge in some much-needed proper meditation. Not simply the few minutes he had been able to snatch here and there.

When they reached their quarters at last, Obi-Wan released a sigh. It was good to be home again, and looking around their living space, Obi-Wan didn’t even mind the plate on the table or the tabard lying on the floor where Anakin had apparently thrown it before they had left.

“Finally, some peace and quiet,” he said over his shoulder, smiling at Anakin and wondering what they might do for dinner. Dex’s was always an option, but he did not particularly want to leave again right away. Thus, he was completely unprepared for the sudden pained shock and fear ripping through the Force, originating from his padawan.

“Anakin, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Anakin stood just inside the door to their quarters, looking at him with wide eyes and seeming quite pale beneath his usual tan. Only a few seconds ago Obi-Wan had been able to sense Anakin’s indifferent contentedness, and so he could not account for the abrupt change at all. Anakin appeared to be rooted to the spot and had not said a word yet.

“Anakin? Are you alright?”, he demanded again. “Talk to me.”

“Me? I’m okay,” was the answer he then received. “But… Maybe you should sit down, Master? And I… I’ll get you some tea, I think, and then… I guess I should… or maybe… Yes, sitting down first.”

Obi-Wan paused at that incomprehensible slew of words, but before he could make an attempt to parse them or to react in any way, he found himself divested of his cloak, hustled over to their sofa and pressed into the cushions.

“Anakin, what…,” he started, but his padawan had already left the room.

A moment later he could hear him rustling around in the kitchen unit. There was the sound of doors banging, the kettle being filled and other small noises Obi-Wan could not quite place. While he waited, feeling utterly perplexed, he attempted to see whether there was anything in the room that might have caused such a reaction. But nothing yielded any clue, and the Force was silent as well.

Long minutes later, his padawan finally returned, and Obi-Wan was presented with a cup of tea that he had to take quickly lest it be shoved in his face. He took a sip and just barely managed not to startle at the unfamiliar, slightly bitter taste. That was certainly a type of tea he had never drunk before, and one he had not even known they owned.

“Thank you for the tea, Anakin. But truly, what…,” he tried again, but found himself interrupted once more.

“It’ll be alright, Master. Just… just stay where you are, okay? Please. And I’ll… I’ll be back in a bit.”

With these cryptic words, Anakin turned around and left their quarters. Obi-Wan could do nothing but frown at his tea and wait for what would happen next.

\---

When the door opened again, he was prepared to insist on answers and not let himself be derailed this time – only to see Master Healer Vokara Che enter the room, trailed by his padawan, who was still projecting inordinate amounts of shock and fear into the Force for no discernible reason.

“Master Kenobi,” she started, “Padawan Skywalker tells me you are not well?”

His words deserted him completely at that unexpected statement. Although phrased like a question, the no-nonsense tone of voice the healer had adopted made it clear that she would not have been surprised to find him bleeding out on the floor. He had to concede that he had downplayed an injury a few times in the past, but that did surely not warrant such an accusatory inflection. Why Anakin would have asked the Master Healer to their quarters was quite another question. For now, he marshalled himself enough to attempt to defuse the situation.

“Excuse me, Master Che, but I do not think I understand? I am well, there is nothing wrong with me. Our mission did entirely consist of negotiations, and I did not incur any injury or infection. You know that, Anakin,” he added pointedly, eyeing his padawan suspiciously.

His padawan, who was hovering next to the couch as Master Healer Che leaned over him, feeling his forehead and peering into his eyes. Obi-Wan tried to subtly move away from her while at the same time prodding Anakin through their bond for an explanation. Naturally, Anakin pretended to be oblivious, not even bothering to return Obi-Wan’s questioning nudges and instead focusing his gaze intently on the healer.

“Forgive me if I do not believe your words, Master Kenobi. You are, after all, renowned for ignoring your health and well-being. Padawan Skywalker was insistent that you were very unwell, so I shall perform a quick examination and then decide whether further steps need to be taken.”

Obi-Wan knew that arguing with Master Che was futile at best; therefore, he reluctantly submitted to her demands. She had brought everything she needed for a general health check, including an instant blood test kit, so for the next twenty minutes Obi-Wan sat still while she listened to his chest, rotated his joints and scanned his blood for pathogens. All the while, Anakin was pacing behind the couch restlessly, alternating between watching Master Che attentively and fiddling with something Obi-Wan could not see.

Needless to say, when all of the results turned out negative for any kind of illness and the healer pronounced him entirely healthy, Obi-Wan was not surprised at all. A sentiment that was apparently not shared by his padawan.

“But are you really sure he’s okay?”

“Yes, Padawan Skywalker,” the healer reiterated. “Your master is in peak condition, and I can find no indication that would cause me concern or warrant further examinations.”

Obi-Wan was slowly but surely losing his patience. This farce had gone on for long enough.

“I did tell you I was perfectly fine,” he interjected quite tersely, “and I do apologise for Anakin wasting your time, Master Che.”

Anakin flinched back as though stung, but Obi-Wan could at that precise moment not muster the energy to puzzle out what had annoyed him now. His sole objective was to gain mastery of his own quarters again – and to sleep, preferably for a week.

“It is no problem, Master Kenobi,” Master Che told him as she prepared to leave. “I would rather be called once too often than miss a serious affliction. Though I would still advise you to be less flippant with your health. You do have a history of disregarding even severe wounds, so I do believe your padawan’s caution was warranted.”

Obi-Wan inclined his head in acknowledgement, although he most certainly did not agree.

“I thank you for your visit and will take your words under advisement. Good day, Master Che, and may the Force be with you.”

\---

Once they were alone again, Obi-Wan shook his head and turned towards Anakin with a raised eyebrow. He still did not know what to make of the past half hour, and the only person with answers seemed disinclined to talk.

“Anakin? Care to tell me what that was all about? What made you think I was ill?”

His padawan refused to meet his eyes, instead continuing to fiddle with whatever he was holding in his hands and taking a small step towards his room.

“It… it was a long mission,” he finally explained, shrugging, “and I thought it couldn’t hurt for a healer to have a look at you. You always refuse to go see them, even for routine check-ups. And anyway…”

Here he cut himself off, and Obi-Wan noticed a certain expression pass over his face. The one expression that meant Anakin was not willing to offer any more information voluntarily.

“And what, Anakin?,” Obi-Wan still insisted. “You cannot drag a master healer here and then expect me to leave it at that. Not to mention that emotional outburst out of nowhere. You _will_ tell me why you believed I was ill.”

Anakin’s face closed off even more at that, and Obi-Wan resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands. Getting his padawan to explain his motivations or thought processes was like pulling teeth at the best of times, which this certainly was not, and he did not think he had the necessary patience right now. It was a fact that still puzzled him exceedingly because they worked together well in most other aspects, but he had had to accept it lest his frustration gain the upper hand.

“_You_ said you were,” Anakin at last declared with absolute conviction, once again disrupting Obi-Wan’s thoughts and leaving nothing but confusion.

He blinked. That was one answer he had not been expecting and could never have imagined.

“What? When should I have said that? We didn’t speak at all between the hangar bay and our quarters. I only mentioned, once we got here, that I was looking forward to some time to relax. Without us having to rush off to the next mission right away.”

Now it was apparently Anakin’s turn to blink at him in bewilderment. He went very still, and Obi-Wan could practically see him sorting through his thoughts. However, if Obi-Wan had hoped his pronouncement would prompt more of an explanation, he was sorely disappointed.

A quiet, “Oh,” was the only response he received before his padawan fell silent again. He decided to wait for a bit longer, and finally, Anakin seemed to find his words again.

“In that case, I’m deeply sorry for having disturbed your well-earned rest, Master. I was only trying to express my concern, and I apologise if I went over the top. May I be excused now?”

Obi-Wan sighed internally, sensing that that was the end of the conversation and nothing more would be forthcoming. That was always the case whenever Anakin turned formal. And perhaps that was truly all there was to it. Perhaps he had mentioned something in passing during the journey that Anakin had blown up into a major issue. He thought he might have said he had a minor headache at one point. It was entirely possible his padawan had decided to interpret it as something more dire than it had been.

The fact that Anakin’s Force signature had returned to its usual quiet turbulence surely corroborated his theory. The fear that had still been swirling around him even after Master Che’s leave-taking had also ebbed away now, and so Obi-Wan chose to let the subject lie. While the surge of pain and fear he had felt earlier seemed disproportionate to a simple headache, it might just as well have been in relation to something else. Obi-Wan was aware that at Anakin’s age, emotions, no matter how well-controlled – and his padawan’s rarely were anyway –, could fluctuate wildly at times. And frankly, he was too tired to deal with Anakin’s real or perceived grievances now.

They both needed some time to rest and recharge, and so he simply nodded.

“Yes, you may. Try to meditate and see why you felt the need to react so disproportionately.”

“As you say, Master,” Anakin replied as he made his way towards his room.

Just before the door closed behind his padawan, Obi-Wan thought he could hear him mutter, “But you still said you were.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Later that evening, in his room by himself, the day’s events still would not leave Anakin alone. It had been so unexpected, and for such a stupid reason. He had noticed it quite often before, of course, but it continued to surprise him how ambiguous Basic could be. Shouldn’t a language that most of the galaxy was speaking be more precise? Or was it just another Coreworlder thing, not to care about how easily people could misunderstand you if you used the same word for different ideas?

He had been so scared when Obi-Wan had said he was going to die. For a moment, it had felt as though his own heart had stopped, and it had been absolutely impossible to think clearly. The fear had exploded inside of him instantly and had been so overwhelming that everything else had faded away.

He knew he had overreacted, running to the healers’ wing and getting Healer Che as he had, but the apparently real possibility of losing Obi-Wan had overshadowed everything else. Even when the healer had said that Obi-Wan was fine, that there was nothing wrong with him, Anakin had not believed it. He had only realised his mistake once Obi-Wan had explained his words and what he had meant – though of course without noticing it had been an explanation to Anakin.

He had been only three at the time, but he still remembered when their quarter’s Grandmother had died. She had been very old; he could see that now, but at the time he had not really understood what had happened. There had been people who had left before because of a new depur or because they had gone into the desert, but the Grandmother had always been there, every day.

And then she hadn’t been. He had been devastated, and he remembered returning to her usual place in one of the courtyards for several days afterwards, hoping she would simply be there again. She had been a big part of his young life – and she had told the best stories about Ekkreth and Akar Hinil and their ikkalda. She had also always had an answer for all of his questions, whether it was where the sand came from or why bantha milk was blue.

On the fifth day, when she had still been gone and he finally had had to believe that she would not come back, he had thrown such a fit, complete with screaming and thrashing around, that his mother had to shake him to snap him out of it. After that, the tears had come. And after that, when he had been all cried out, his mother had explained to him that where Grandmother was now, she had found tokkrada. The peace that only death could bring, that promised rest and stillness and freedom from depur’s chains. The peace that was not simply the absence of toil and strife and fighting, but that offered a true release of the soul. The peace that meant being with Ar-Amu and all those who had gone before you.

It was sad that Grandmother was gone, his mother had said, and it was alright to grieve, but he should not forget that she was free now and enjoying genuine peace, not just a mockery of it. Anakin had still not completely understood it, but he had gathered that Grandmother had to be happy now and that tokkrada was something good.

However, the feeling of loss had made a great impression on him, and it had reared its head at Obi-Wan’s words. To Anakin, tokkrada had seemed the only reasonable translation for “peace and quiet”, so how should he not have assumed that Obi-Wan was deathly ill and about to die? And so he had made an absolute fool of himself, all because of a stupid translation mistake.

He settled his head on his arms and stared at the piece of japor he always carried with him and which he had now put on the desk in front of himself. It was the only thing he had left of his mother, the only thing he had managed to hide away when he had had to give everything else up on his admission to the Temple. It carried the sign of the Mother’s protection, and while Healer Che had examined Obi-Wan, he had turned it around in his hands – seven times with the orbit of the suns and seven against it, just as he had been taught – and had asked Ar-Amu to shield Obi-Wan.

Of course, it was now clear that it had not been necessary, but it had certainly not hurt either. Looking at the japor now, the feeling of isolation that was always hovering around him ramped up a notch. Should anyone ever see it, they wouldn’t even know what it was, let alone realise its significance. And sometimes, that hurt more than anything else. It was just so hard that there was no one in the Temple he could truly talk to. There was no one who understood his language – or even knew it existed –, and so there was no one who understood him. Because there was just no way to convey some things in Basic or even to describe what he meant.

Such as when, in an attempt to “share”, as Obi-Wan had called it, he had said that he hated sand. It had turned into somewhat of a running joke in his classes, the boy from a desert world hating sand, but of course no one had bothered to ask him to clarify. Or had even known there was anything _to_ clarify, as Basic only had that one woefully inadequate word to describe something that had accompanied him his whole life and was as much a part of him as his arms or legs. He had only meant that he did not like the specific type of sand that contained sharp hidden stones which cut open your feet when you walked on it barefoot. But how to explain that to people for whom sand equalled beaches and the sea?

Anakin clenched his hands into fists. It was only one example in a long series of misunderstandings, but it was a very persistent one because people kept bringing it up. And now this latest one, with Obi-Wan. He began to wonder whether he should just give up, just accept that his language was of no relevance here and focus on perfecting his Basic so no more blunders would occur. He was just so tired of constantly feeling like an outsider.

_I tell you this story to save your life._

His mother’s voice was suddenly loud in his mind, reaching him over the many years separating them and jolting him out of his thoughts, and he could do nothing but listen to her and to his memories.

_One day, as Ekkreth was walking near Depur’s palace, they saw the people there labouring away at digging a trench in the sand. But whenever they had created even only a small hole, more sand would trickle in, thus making it nigh impossible to achieve an end._

_Perceiving that the overseers were not in sight, Ekkreth assumed the shape of a Grandparent and approached the toiling people._

_“Children of the Mother,” they said, “wherefore are you digging this trench that shall never be firm in the fine sand?”_

_To their surprise, the people gave no answer and only gazed at them in mute and desolate silence before returning to their fruitless work. Feeling that surely some of Depur’s malice was here at play, Ekkreth then went to the palace and, taking on the guise of a rich and influential outlander clad in a glittering purple dress, came before Depur._

_They bowed deeply and addressed him thusly,_

_“Great and mighty are you, o Depur, and your fame has reached the ends of the galaxy. Hence, I have come here so that I might see your splendour with mine own eyes. Verily, it surpasses all I could have envisioned in my most fantastic dreams. But as I neared your magnificent fortress, I became aware of a group of lowly slaves digging a trench in utter silence. Not one sound touched my ears, and it struck me as passing strange and delightful. What wondrous power do you possess, that you might quiet their ceaseless sighs and groans?”_

_Depur, who was flattered by these pretty words and basked in the report of his fame, was more than willing to give whom he believed to be a wealthy lady from far-away lands more reason to admire him. Thus he beckoned Ekkreth to join him at the window, and, pointing at a small chest of metal displayed prominently on a plinth in his courtyard, he said,_

_“See you this chest, Lady? It is a device of my own making, with a lock that no weapon can break, and I have used it to entrap my slaves’ language, so that I no longer have to hear their murmuring and singing at all times of the day and night.”_

_Ekkreth clapped their hands in feigned astonishment and leaned out of the window, peering at the chest intently._

_“What a marvellous idea that was! Your ingenuity truly knows no bounds, o Depur. But tell me, as every lock must have a key, how can you be certain that these your slaves will not steal it and thus regain their language?”_

_Depur smiled scornfully and gestured at a different part of his vast courtyard, saying,_

_“That shall never be. For the key is hidden in yonder spiny bush that shall tear apart anyone who dares reach inside it.”_

_Again, Ekkreth acclaimed Depur’s craftiness and spoke,_

_“That is pleasing to my senses. Now I can be certain their uncouth voices shall never again offend your or my ears. But here is another mystery I am desirous to resolve: Why are your slaves digging a trench that refills itself in perpetuity? What can be the reason for such work?”_

_Then Depur laughed, for he believed this outlander to be not well-versed in the art of handling things such as these._

_“It is my will, and my will is law; there need be no other reason.”_

_“I see your wisdom is more bountiful than mine shall ever be,” said Ekkreth, nodding their head in assumed humbleness. “And I understand now that such an onerous task shall have them properly subdued for when you set them to repairing the cracks in the wall in yonder corner. Verily, I declare that you are the sagest and most cunning Master in all the lands.”_

_Depur, who had heretofore not spared his walls a single thought, now deemed in his mind that from the beginning it had been his intention to have the cracks mended. And he sent for his overseer to impart this his new order._

_Ekkreth, meanwhile, took their leave of Depur under much bowing and flattery and went back to the trench, where the people were still hard at work._

_“Listen, Children of the Mother,” they entreated, “for I have learned where Depur keeps your language, and have found a way to retrieve it.”_

_So they listened, for their ears were open while their mouths were silenced. And when night spread its blanketing cloak over the desert, those set to work on the walls had opened a small hole in them, permitting one of their numbers to gain entrance to the courtyard and to reach the thorny bush._

_It is a secret Depur will never see or understand that all the living things in his thrall, however unsightly or inimical they might seem, are united in their striving for freedom. Therefore, the little bush drew back its thorns until the key could be recovered with ease. And once the chest was opened, the language returned to all the Children of the Mother, and they raised their voices in praise to Ar-Amu, for they had regained part of themselves._

_And they resealed the wall and fled to the secret places in the desert. “For now,” they said, “we are not leaving our identity behind, and nothing is holding us back.”_

_In the morning, Depur came and found all his slaves gone and Ekkreth sitting on the crown of the wall._

_“Learn if you can,” they said, “that you can never take the peoples’ language away in truth. For it is in our bones and our souls, and it is us, and we are it.”_

_And Ekkreth turned into a bird and flew away._

_And that is how Ekkreth stole the language back from Depur and restored it to the Children to stay with them forever. For it is inscribed in their hearts and gives them life, as they give life to it in return._

_I tell you this story to save your life._

His mother’s voice faded away, and Anakin sat upright at his desk now, eyes wide and almost revolted by his earlier thoughts. Denying his language, giving it up – it was almost like letting Depur steal it all over again. And that could never happen. He _would_ never allow it to happen. His language belonged to him, and he to it, and through it, he was connected to all of those he had left behind. Even if he could not see them or talk to them. As long as he kept the language in his heart, he would never truly be alone, no matter what his outside circumstances looked like.

Anakin’s gaze fell on the half-finished model of the Delta-7 Aethersprite in the corner, which he had to complete for his mechanics and engineering class. For some reason, he had put off painting it for quite some time. It was supposed to be a dark red, symbolising the diplomatic immunity of the Jedi Order, but somehow it had not sat right with him. Now he knew what it would look like. There would be red, yes, on the nose, but a brighter shade, and the wings would be orange. And finally, the area surrounding the cockpit would be black. It might be quite bold – not that anyone would grasp the significance –, and he was maybe not there yet, but it could be a declaration of intent and a reminder to himself.

Nodding decisively, he got up and went to get the paint from where he had shoved it into his wardrobe. He would start on that right away, while Ekkreth was still in the forefront of his thoughts.

When he sat in front of his model a few minutes later, paintbrush in hand and orange paint open next to him, he was finally able to look at the earlier happenings with a calm mind. Yes, his reaction might have been over the top, but it had come from a well-intentioned place, one of caring. And caring for another was never wrong, his mother had always said. It did not matter that Obi-Wan had not understood his reasons; it was only important that Anakin understood himself.

What he had learned, however, was that he needed to be even more careful with his own and with others’ words. While he didn’t think that the misunderstanding per se was serious, it did show him that he had to be even more aware of the differences between his own language and Basic. Not because it might embarrass him, but so that he did not give the secret away.

Because that was what he had almost done, when he had said Obi-Wan himself had declared he was ill. Luckily for him, Obi-Wan had been so tired that he had left it at that and had not questioned Anakin’s words more closely. Anakin had just been so relieved that Obi-Wan was alright – and then somewhat hurt and angry that Obi-Wan would basically order him to answer – that he had not really thought about what he had said. Now he could only hope that Obi-Wan would not take the topic up again in the morning.

It would only lead to another fight because Anakin would definitely not reveal more of that which should remain secret. He would keep it close, inscribed in his heart just as the story said, and draw strength from it. And he promised himself that he would not forget again.

_I will remember, Mum._

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> The Anakin I envisioned here is closer to the one in Fialleril’s "Heretic Pride" than to the canon one, in that he hasn’t denied and suppressed his heritage and his culture.
> 
> These are the concepts that belong to Fialleril:
> 
> • tzai: The tea Anakin makes for Obi-Wan. It’s not named in the story itself because Obi-Wan doesn’t know what it is, and the part where it is mentioned is from his point of view. It’s a sacred drink on Tatooine that connects people to each other and to their history. Every family has their own recipe which is a secret and not shared with outsiders. So while Anakin would likely never tell Obi-Wan about tzai, he still makes it for him to comfort him.  
• grandmother of the quarters: The wise woman of the slave quarters who is a sort of teacher, spiritual leader, storyteller, healer and many other things.  
• Ekkreth: The trickster, the Sky-walker, the slave who makes free. Ekkreth is everyone, and everyone is Ekkreth. A figure of Tatooine legend that I cannot explain properly without embarrassing myself. I’d advise reading Fialleril’s "Double Agent Vader" series if you want to learn more about Ekkreth.  
• Akar Hinil: Another legendary Tatooine figure. A former slave turned space pirate.  
• ikkalda: Amatakka word meaning “older sister”. I used it to describe Leia, the Great Krayt Dragon, whom the slaves believe to be their older sister.  
• depur: Amatakka word meaning “master”, specifically “the one who binds in chains” (and I hope I’m not misremembering that).  
• Ar-Amu: the Great Mother.  
• the Mother’s protection: The sign carved on Anakin’s piece of japor.  
• colour symbolism: See Fialleril’s tumblr here: https://fialleril.tumblr.com/post/145285493131/youve-mentioned-that-black-is-the-color-of  
I do have thoughts on why Anakin wants to paint his model in these colours in the specific places mentioned, so if you’re interested in that, let me know.  
• The concept that Amatakka is a secret language that is not supposed to be shared with outsiders.  
• The concept of storytelling to save lives and the tradition of the Ekkreth stories. The specific Ekkreth story within the story is my own.
> 
> I hope I haven’t forgotten anything. I cannot recommend reading Fialleril’s stories strongly enough; the worldbuilding is absolutely superb and gives so much life and vibrancy to Tatooine!
> 
> “Tokkrada” is my – probably poor – attempt at coming up with an Amatakka word. I tried to create a connection to Fialleril’s word “dukkra” which means both “death” and “freedom” in Amatakka. I would also like to credit my five-year-old nephew with the hiding place for the key in the Ekkreth story because when I asked him where he would hide the key for a treasure chest, he said in a bush.
> 
> And a final note on names: I believe that inside his own mind, Anakin wouldn’t call anyone “master”. That is why I decided to only use “Obi-Wan” in the part that is Anakin’s point of view.


End file.
